New Development
by CSpaz
Summary: The year is 1984 and Cave Johnson has just passed away, leaving Aperture Science entirely to his young widow, Caroline. Meanwhile, James Wheatley, a bright-eyed but not-so-bright intern starts working in the labs. Together they develop the GLaDOS project. (The timeline is a bit AU in this, implying that Caroline did not work at Aperture since the very beginning.)
1. Chapter 1

J. Wheatley had only been an intern at Aperture Laboratories for two weeks when Cave Johnson shuffled off his mortal coil. And Wheatley was devastated, to be sure, having lost one of his heroes – the very man, as it were, who had inspired him to pursue a career in science. But life and science bustled on, and to absolutely no one's surprise the Widow Johnson assumed control of the company and insisted that testing carry on as usual.

In the midst of his mourning, Wheatley couldn't help but wonder what other changes would come to pass in the wake of Cave's death. After all, the only reason he'd landed such a hot internship was because the boss had liked his "pluck" — Wheatley had dropped out of university ages ago and was vastly under-qualified for such a position. But he'd sent a crudely-written fan letter of sorts to the late Mr. Johnson which had apparently proven that he had "more personality than all the other eggheads in the lab combined." He was offered the position on the spot.

Of course, everyone else in the lab learned quickly enough that he was under-qualified and they didn't find it nearly as endearing as Cave had. Through the forest of cubicles Wheatley would often catch the tails of mutterings like, "…only because he regrets not having a son to take under his wing…"

And now, with Cave having kicked the proverbial bucket, Wheatley found himself in quite the pickle. Mrs. Johnson, Queen Bee of the facility, was quite unlike her late husband. Personality mattered little to her, and anything that hindered the efficiency of their programs – in other words, _him_ – would be dealt with accordingly. All anyone needed to do was mention to Mrs. Johnson that Wheatley had been an utter disappointment in the few brief weeks he'd been there, and surely he would get the boot. And if this was obvious to Wheatley, surely it was to his superiors as well.

So he ducked his head and tried to lay low in the days that followed, quietly accepting that the only thing he was trusted with was fetching the coffee (which he frequently screwed up, anyway). He skirted around the office as a shadow, trying to catch glimpses and snippets of the work that was going on right under his nose, and in busy moments he would sneak away to scribble his own notes and diagrams on the backs of coffee shop receipts.

The other object of his fascination, the other subject that he would steal glances at and sometimes, only sometimes, make notes about, was the Widow, the quiet and analytical successor who was, in his eyes, a celebrity. True, she could (and probably would) throw him out on the streets in an instant, but in all honesty that was what he so admired about her; her unwavering dedication to her work, her passion to carrying out experiments at any cost. If it was Cave's enthusiasm and willingness to take risks that had built Aperture, it was Caroline's conviction that kept it standing. Admittedly, her newfound role as the head of Aperture had softened the blow of losing Cave – at least to Wheatley.

So he would peer into her office as he brought the morning coffee in and take long, leisurely detours past when she was speaking to one of the employees. He never tried to talk to her – didn't know what he'd say if he did – just wanted to be around her, to soak up as much inspiration and insight as he could.

It wasn't until he had worked there for two months that they finally crossed paths.

It was a Friday night and most employees on the clerical side of things had been out the door at 5. Wheatley, however, had been asked to stay late to perform a task that was of the utmost importance and would provide valuable on-the-job learning: he was to colour-code and organize the past 40 years' of employee records, alphabetically, within the realms of Current, Past, and MIA.

Current: Green. Evers comes after Estaire. Past: Yellow. Marconi comes after Marchese. MIA: Red. Bell comes before Best.

By the time 9:00 rolled around, he'd made a modest dent in the work, but his mind was in another land. Current, green, Appleton before Arlington. Past, yellow, Orpheus after O'Malley. MIA, green, Thompson before Bernard. Past, red, Quinten before Anders…

"Excuse me."

Halfway into placing a red sticker over a yellow sticker he'd placed ten minutes ago, Wheatley was jolted back to reality. "U-uh—?" was all he could immediately come up with. Slowly he turned and found himself — to his surprise and delight and horror — face-to-face with Mrs. Johnson. He stared, a deer in the headlights, mouth hanging open uselessly.

"Who are you and what are you still doing here?" she demanded. Wheatley fumbled just long enough for her to furrow her brow and add, "And _why_ do you have stickers all over your face?"

"Oh— oh!" he exclaimed, and clawed at his face to remove the stickers, as if this would erase them from her memory. "I'm James Wheatley, ma'am, and I uh," he extended his hand to her, immediately recognized his faux pas, and stood up from his chair, "I'm an intern here, your late husband hired me, God rest his soul, and I'm just working on an assignment here, quite important really, got to get things in order haven't we? You ah, you can't run an efficient company if the paperwork's not in order, heh heh… heh…"

Caroline narrowed her eyes and scowled. "Well. I'm sure if Mr. Johnson hired you there must have been some reason." She hesitated. "Very well. Good night Mr. Wrightley."

She turned and retreated down the corridor, heels clicking away from him until they were but a whisper, and she, but a memory.

Wheatley stared after her for a long time before collapsing into his chair, eyes still trailing after her ghost. There was a weakness in his knees, a sickness in his stomach, an inner conflict between his utter embarrassment and regret that he wasn't quicker on his feet, and then, the sheer excitement of having actually spoken to her, made eye contact with her, having heard her say his name… well… almost. He was entirely starstruck, and spent the rest of the night diligently placing stickers so that he might contribute, in some miniscule way, to her vast, science-y empire.

For another week, for seven agonizing days, there was nothing. Just the same old stolen glances and overheard pieces of conversation, his eyes darting into her office, the conference room, anywhere that she might be in hopes that she might recognize him, say hello, commend him on his excellent sticker placement. Perhaps she would ask him how else he could contribute to the company's efforts, and oh, he could share his ideas, perhaps set up a Power Point presentation, she'd shake his hand and say he was brilliant, he would get a huge promotion and become a household name…

But instead it was much of the same, and though he'd cough as he passed her in the hall, puff out his chest as he crossed in front of her doorway, there was no hello, no sign of recognition whatsoever. And so, with great effort, he spent much of that weekend telling himself to slow down and start focusing on his work – that's how he would get noticed, by being the best darn intern around, and not by daydreaming. By the time Monday morning rolled around, he was ready to work harder than he ever had in his life. The first step was a simple one: to bring all of his department their coffee, just the way they liked it, without incident. Easy. With a swagger in his step he bumped his hip, ID card attached, onto the front door scanner and stepped inside. Proud, confident, cocky as hell, Wheatley marched down the hallway towards the cubicles, perfect coffees in hand.

"You! Come here a minute."

The voice startled him and he jumped into the air, sending the cup-holder flying. He scrambled to save his precious drinks but only managed to catch one, the other three clattering onto the floor and spilling open. He stared, flabbergasted, at the mess before him – then looked at the one drink he'd miraculously saved – then turned his head toward door he'd frozen in front of, only to see her dark eyes staring back at him.

"Yes," she said, annoyed, "_You_. Come here."

Wheatley looked all about, certain that she couldn't possibly be talking to him… but there was no one else around, and by the way her mouth curled down and her hands tented on her desk, he could tell she was not in a patient mood.

"Oh! Ah… what can I do for you? No no, wait, sorry, that's too informal… um… I, uh…" His mind was racing as he closed the seemingly endless gap between the door and her desk. He wanted to ask her to wait a moment, to look away for just a second while he composed himself and thought of something bright to say… but, God, you can't ask Caroline Johnson to wait for you!

"What is that in your hand?" She was stern, no-nonsense as usual. Wheatley blinked down at the cup he was holding. Was this drink about to cost him his job somehow?

"Um… It's coffee… Just coffee, I swear! For Arthur in Research, he takes it black, absolutely nothing else, watch, I'll drink it myself, doesn't bother me, I love the stuff…"

"Wait!"

He froze, cup mid-way to his lips. Her brows were furrowed. He stared.

"Sorry… Wait for _what_, exactly?"

"Let me have it."

"This?" He pointed at the coffee, looked from it to her and back again. "Um… Well… Okay, I suppose I could do that, I've already lost the rest of the order haven't I? And it's certainly going to a better place, I mean, not to imply anything, but between you and me, Arthur really needs to cut back… ah…" He reached over and placed the coffee cup gingerly on her desk. Caroline folded her arms, examined it for a moment, then met his gaze. Her eyes suddenly seemed softer, somehow.

"…Thank you, Mr. Wingley."

"Oh… heh," He shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. "It's… well it's Wheatley, actually, but no no no, think nothing of it! Forget I said anything. If I'm honest, it's just nice to get a 'mister' before my name. Heh. _Mister._ I've not been called that in a while. Err… at least not in seriousness."

Caroline raised her brows. She studied him carefully, but no longer with any reproach, thank God. Her long, slender hands found the coffee and she sipped it, deep in thought. Wheatley stared back at her, awkward and fascinated, unaware of the pregnant silence all around them. He just marveled at the way she clutched the coffee to her, innocent in a way, like she'd just come in from a cold winter's day…

"Mr. Wheatley, you said you were an intern. What is it, exactly, that you do around here?"

"Ah, right, I know why you're asking," he said, smug as ever. Here it was, his chance to really impress her! "I don't look the part, eh? Well, not to brag, but I'm the first Research Intern to work for Aperture without a degree in my past… or my future, for that matter."

"_What_." She stopped drinking, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Oh, um…" That certainly wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Deflated, he scrambled to save face. "It's not as though I snuck in or something! Your… your late husband really did hire me, ma'am, hand-picked, s'matter of fact. Said he liked my pluck."

She let out a small breath. "I see." Her eyes lowered, fixed somewhere in a different place, a different time. A tiny smile curled onto her lips. "We never did see quite eye-to-eye on that sort of thing. But Aperture was founded on a love of science and the courage to go out on a limb, after all." Wheatley nodded vigorously. "He never would have hired me if it weren't for that…" She looked back up at him, in reality once more. "Hmm… If you'll excuse the question, Mr. Wheatley, do you feel that you are being properly utilized in Research? Not that I… doubt your abilities. But I wonder if you might be better suited in a different department."

"Properly utilized?" The question bounced around in his head. "I… I do rather like bringing the coffee…"

"Do you actually do any research?"

"Well it's… it's mostly the coffee, really… But! But I am working on a few ideas in my spare time…"

"Perfect." Caroline stood from her chair and extended her free hand out to him. He stared at it, eyes wide. "Mr. Wheatley, I would like to offer you a job as my personal assistant."

"E-excuse me?" He looked around the room. "Me?"

"If you're going to be bringing coffee, you might as well be bringing it to someone important." A dark smirk flashed across her face. He felt his knees get weak again. "Cave saw something in you. I trust his judgement. Maybe you can share some of your ideas with me… or maybe you can just make my mornings a little more interesting. Mr. Wheatley… managing this operation solo has been an absolute nightmare. Aperture is my lifeblood and I refuse to let it fall into anyone else's hands. However there's a certain _pluck_ that's been missing lately."

Wheatley put a hand to his chest and sucked in a breath. "Ms. Johnson… it would be a bloody honor to work for you."


	2. Chapter 2

**(AN: Sorry for the long delay and short chapter. I had trouble writing Wheatley's first day... This will have to do.)**

Wheatley stood outside her office door and took several deep breaths. He clutched her coffee, like a sacred artifact, to his chest. Nothing would get in his way today. _Nothing_. He took one last breath, lifted his eyes to the threshold before him, and gave a timid rap on the doorframe. "Eh... um, knock knock," he squeaked, poking his head inside.

Caroline looked up from her work and blinked at him. "...the door's open," she said after a moment, unsure why this was something she needed to clarify.

"Heh, yeah I... I know..." He hunched his shoulders and shuffled across the room to her, eyes darting about, coming to a stop in front of her desk. She was already back to the paperwork before her, and said nothing to him. He cleared his throat. Nothing. "Mm, right, well, I suppose I'll just leave this here then..." He set the cup gingerly on the desk and then clasped his hands behind his back. Still nothing. He stood for a moment more, rocking back and forth on his heels, before he could finally bear it no longer; "Am I, err... supposed to be here?" he blurted, nervous hands darting up to adjust his tie. "I-I mean, you weren't joking about having me as your assistant, were you?"

Caroline paused and glanced up at him without lifting her head. A second passed, and she smiled. Wheatley's heart caught in his throat. "My apologies, Mr. Wheatley." Her voice was soft. "I do tend to get a bit caught up in my work." She stood from her chair.

"I-It's nothing to apologize for, really," he stammered, hands going up in front of him, defensively. "It's actually quite admirable, if I'm honest. Heh, I just..."

"Thank you for the coffee," she said, rounding the desk. "Let me show you where you'll be working. Follow me." She brushed past him and his eyelids flickered shut for a moment as the scent of her perfume whirled around him. He followed suit, an obedient dog.

Out in the corridor, Caroline gestured to a handsome-looking desk just around the corner from her own door. "This is your HQ, Mr. Wheatley. Your job will to protect my doorway like your life depends on it. No one gets in without my permission. Except you, of course." She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "In fact, that's the most important part of your job: being a friendly face and a welcome distraction when I need it."

"Oh, brilliant! I like to think I'm pretty friendly, and anyone down in research will tell you I know a thing or two about distractions!" She laughed. He swelled.

"Excellent, Mr. Wheatley. I don't much_ like_ distractions, but Cave always said 'all work and no play'... well, you know..." She pulled herself together. "Listen, today I just want you to get acquainted with my personal database... get up to speed on the projects I'm overseeing. You can use the intercom on your phone if you need me... but do feel free to come into the office, okay?" She cocked her head and waited as though pausing for questions, but he was too giddy to think that far ahead. "Alright then. You'll do great." She nodded to him and retreated to her office, hands clasped behind her back. He watched her go, almost certain he would faint.

Un-bloody-believable. What on earth had he done to get so lucky? How the hell did he wind up working for the goddess of the experimental science world? Well, certainly she could recognize brilliance when she saw it. And being a handsome bloke couldn't hurt, he figured.

He sat down at his new desk and turned, determined, to the boxy computer before him. He would be the best damn assistant Ms. Johnson had ever seen. Yes! He would go above and beyond the call of duty. He would get this operation running more smoothly and efficiently than it ever had before! All he had to do was focus on this first, simple task... mm... yes..! Focus...

...

"...Wheatley?"

He snapped upright in his chair. What was -? Where was -? He looked around to get his bearings: A patch of drool on the desk, the letters "vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv" across the screen, evidently because that's the key his cheek had landed on.

He turned his face upwards. His muscles tensed. In slow motion her body came into view. She was frowning, one eyebrow arched.

"Oh... bollocks."

It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he shouldn't have stayed up all night. But dammit, he had been positively _giddy_...

"Mr. Wheatley, I'm going to assume you've been spending a lot of time around testing track 267. After all, we were testing to see the effects of sleep depravation on users of the Handheld Portal Device, with the help of our prototype energy-sapping grilles. So I'll consider this little mishap a useful piece of data." She smirked - or was it a grimace? - and continued, "However, unless you'd like to become a full-time test subject, let's not let it happen again. Okay?"

"O-okay. Yes. Right," he stammered, diverting his gaze. He had failed her. Already. He slouched in his chair, hands dangling uselessly between his legs, eyes dark and distant. There was silence, but before long he saw her shadow move as if to leave. She hesitated, and then there was a ghost of a touch on his shoulder... maybe not a touch at all, maybe just the tingle of heat radiating from her... and maybe it was nothing, nothing but a breeze as she turned on her heel and walked away. A shiver ran down his spine.

The excitement and disbelief of the morning had suddenly turned into a heavy anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He could hardly make heads or tails of the situation he was in. The question resurfaced: why on earth had she asked a moron like him to assist her? Why was he even still employed at this facility at all? Oh, sure, he had a few good ideas once in a while, maybe he could've won a Science Fair in school if he had bothered to do the work... but he had the attention span of a goldfish and she, oh, _she_ was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of brilliance and diligence, and she seemed to know everything that was going on in every corner of the labs, and how could any one human be that great? She terrified him, she scared the living hell out of him, and he never quite knew if she was happy or sad or livid or _nothing_... nor whether she was teasing him or fighting the urge to forcibly eject him from the premises. When she'd scolded him just now, hadn't she smiled? Hadn't he seen it? Hadn't the corner of her mouth flicked upwards, if only for a moment? Was it empathy or sadism that had stirred in her? God, this woman. He admired her, worshipped her, feared her, desired her...

It just didn't make any sense. Every decision she'd ever made was brilliant... except for this one. Did she really think he had potential, or was this just some kind of test? God damn it, he needed to know!

He took a deep breath. "No, no, no. Enough thinking like that, Wheatley. Fat load of good thinking ever did for you. No... I _will_ make Aperture Laboratories a stronger, more efficient operation." He said it aloud, having heard on some late night talk show that such affirmations were the secret to success. "I _will_ gain Ms. Johnson's respect. I _will_ be an asset to this company!"

"That's nice, Mr. Wheatley. You might begin by taking your phone off intercom."

He blinked.

"...Sorry, Ms. Johnson."


End file.
